October 28, 2009

I dream dreams;Entwined within the rhythm So it seems,I see scenes so great and fair,And my spirit dances there, The gay and happy spirit

Of my dreams.

Sometimes I am a geisha girl so small,

Dancing by the cherry Trees so tall;

Or Castillian lady fair,

With such back and glossy hair, Dancing at a gorgeous Spanish ball.

Perhaps I am a colleen

Shy and sweet,

With an Irish jig and reel

Beneath my feet;

Or a Chinese dancing girl,

With my silken blouse awhirl

Entertaining at an Oriental fete.

Sometimes I am a quiet

Quaker maid,

Not dancing! No, just walking

Prim and staid;

Or a colonial belle of grace,

Weaving a many dainty pace.

In the minuet, as danced

By man and maid.

For the magic of the music,

So it seems,

Sets the stage, and over all

Bright color gleams,

Wrought by tempo, harmony,

By inventive melody.

Whenever I hear music

I dream dreams.

By Mina Morris Scott Circa 1940

I discovered this poem in a book that I unearthed at our local flea market. It reminded me of how much music has meant to me over the course of my life. It's part of me like the air I breathe, marking every major moment during my life.

Just today I heard an electric guitar loud and bold. It was played so sweet that I was reminded of a Stradivarius.

And of Pavarotti's version of Nessun Dorma.

Some music reminds me of cruising through Italy. "California Love" sung by Tupac takes me back to dancing in Amsterdam, of all places. Surrounded and laughing with a busload of new Australian friends.

More recently, Seagull reminded me of what it felt like to be 15 and sitting under the moonlight with good friends. Not a care in the world. The only melodrama in our lives being that which we conjured up ourselves in that overwrought teenage way.

Through music I can travel anywhere and everywhere at will, across seas and most importantly, back across time.

September 15, 2008

Yesterday evening I spent a little time catching up on the blog The Earthly Paradise. Margaret had written a post the other day about Tennyson. Reading the post led me to remember Longfellow. One of my all time favorite poems is Longefellow's The Day is Done.

The day is done, and the darknessFalls from the wings of Night,As a feather is wafted downwardFrom an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the villageGleam through the rain and the mist,And a feeling of sadness comes o'er meThat my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,That is not akin to pain,And resembles sorrow onlyAs the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,Some simple and heartfelt lay,That shall soothe this restless feeling,And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,Not from the bards sublime,Whose distant footsteps echoThrough the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,Their mighty thoughts suggestLife's endless toil and endeavor;And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,Whose songs gushed from his heart,As showers from the clouds of summer,Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,And nights devoid of ease,Still heard in his soul the musicOf wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quietThe restless pulse of care,And come like the benedictionThat follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volumeThe poem of thy choice,And lend to the rhyme of the poetThe beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with musicAnd the cares, that infest the day,Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,And as silently steal away.

I chose the Cameron photo above to go with the poem. Entitled "Sadness" this one is thought to have been made circa 1864. It amazes me when a photo taken over 100 years ago appears entirely recent. Timeless...